Creation

I didn’t draw until I got locked-up, in 2018. The prison offered an art program, and seats were hotly desired, with each cell block sending numerous requests for entry.

The art instructor was a big, burly man who used to be a kicker for the Miami Dolphins. He was a very talented painter. Entry into his class was appealing for several reasons.

It got me out of my cell for an hour. Early on, when I hadn’t been assigned a job yet, any opportunity to leave my cramped confines was coveted. My cellmate had bad breath. Like, it made my eyes water bad. I wanted out.
The classroom felt comfortable. There were potted plants situated amongst the drafting tables. There was music playing, usually soft and dulcet. The room smelled of aged paper and possibility. The instructor didn’t have bad breath.
I saw some seriously talented artists in prison. Anybody with abilities got offers to draw Christmas and birthday cards, portraits, tattoo ideas and other commissioned work for hire. Good portrait artists charged upwards of fifty dollars for their work. In prison, that’s good money.

So, when my name came up to join the class, I accepted. Now, I had doodled before, mostly cartoons for my own amusement. I figured that I’d learn some techniques, and at a minimum, have a reason to leave my cell. It was only a few days into the sessions that I realized I had talent. I could draw most anything I saw, and immersed myself in my sketchbook, burning through hours with a pencil in my hand.

Of course, I was soon offended money to draw for others, and my reputation as a reliably talented artist grew. I’m a believer in balance; that the yin and yang of life is real. I think life said ‘ok, we’ve been kicking you repeatedly, so here’s a gift.’ And that was my art.